


Locking Down

by Spoon888



Series: Mission And Companion Pieces [15]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, References To Past Coercion, References to Past Dubious Consent, Sexual Harassment, Starscream is a badass, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: In some ways, part of Mission had always known about the sacrifices Starscream had made to keep him safe.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream, Past Starscream/Lockdown
Series: Mission And Companion Pieces [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/638945
Comments: 54
Kudos: 244





	Locking Down

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to vin for the support! 
> 
>   
> Ages:  
> Mission: 17  
> Thrax: 6  
> Invicta: 5

Mission hated embarking on missions with his creator for the same reason he loved going out on social calls with him; the attention. Few could pull off such a bright colour scheme, even for a seeker, and amongst a ship full of dark, scowling Decepticons, his creator was always this beacon of style and glamour, sticking out like an odd angled wing, and looking immensely smug about it.

And as ill-suited to stealth missions Starscream was, he was perfect for charming potential recruits and allies. Which was what brought Mission and Starscream to a spaceport on the outer reaches of the Chaar, looking for a bar, or more specifically, the lost and aimless sparks they'd find drinking their troubles away inside one.

But having spent the last six months accompanying Megatron on campaigns both exciting and dangerous, Mission wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic about the change in atmosphere.

They hadn't even done any recruiting yet and he was already bored out of his processor.

Shoulders hunched miserably, Mission trailed after Starscream as they crossed the dingy docks, passing by a loitering gang of mechs half-hidden in the shadow of a warehouse. Their helms lifted one-by-one, optics brightening as they focused in on the gleaming slip of other-worldly glamour striding through their dark and dingy port. Mission picked up the pace, sticking close to his creator.

Starscream's keen optics flicked back to Mission, his elegant brow arching. "You're not going to hang off my wings are you?" He murmured. "You haven't done that since you were-"

Mission abruptly stepped back, realising from Starscream's perspective it probably looked like he was acting like a clingy sparkling. He straightened his back and cleared his vocaliser, mustering as stoic a frown as Megatron himself would have worn. "I'm only eager to leave."

"We just arrived," Starscream waved him closer so they could walk side-by-side. "Now, I know you'd rather be blasting heads off with your sire-"

"And you wouldn't?" Mission mumbled.

Starscream's optics rolled into the back of his helm. "-But there's still _fun_ to be had here, with me _,_ " he finished in an unnecessarily chipper tone.

Mission's shuttered his optics. 'Fun' with _Starscream_!? Had his creator always been this embarrassing?!

They found a bar toward the centre of the spaceport. It was shielded from the faint glow of it's nearest star by tall cranes and half built structures, adding to it's dingy outwards appearance. The windows were sealed and fitted with blast proof shutters like they expected to be besieged upon at any moment, which was ironic, because the front door was missing.

Mission hung back, watching his creator step over the heap of metal which upon closer inspection appeared to be an unconscious mech lying in a puddle. Already at the doorway, Starscream snapped his fingers to hurry him along. "Don't wander off."

Mission bit back the urge to whine that he wasn't a sparkling and unlike his younger siblings could be trusted to 'wander off' if he was so inclined. He felt like his creator often forgot he was growing up. He had more than proved his worth as a mech, and as a warrior, alongside Megatron in battle. 

He took the steps leading up to the bar's open doorway two at a time to catch up, falling into line beside his creator just as the yellow-tinged overhead lighting glanced off his creator's silvery white wing and reflected back against the dark walls.

Helms lifted. A chair scrapped back as a mech stood to get a better look.

Starscream strutted into the bar like he owned it. He didn't make optical contact with any of his gaping admirers, but Mission did, taking them in one at a time, memorising their shaded faces, just in case. The bar smelt like energon and stale smoke from some of the patron's cy-gars. Mission wrinkled his nose, the scent bringing forth memory files of times before, from when Starscream had brought him to places like these when he had been small.

There was one time in particular, when he had been craving pictures into the top of the table with a knife Starscream had given him to keep him busy whist he spoke with a stranger -a stranger whose only distinguishing features were his yellow optics and tall frame. Mission hadn't paid them much mind. One minute they had been talking, the next, Starscream had snatched the knife out of Mission's hand and stabbed it through the stranger's hand where it had fallen to grope his thigh.

The blade had sliced clean through the mech's wandering servo and imbedded itself in his creator's thigh armour underneath, but Mission couldn't recall Starscream caring about his own injury. Apparently, it had been worth it.

The almost forgotten memory left Mission feeling unnerved. Starscream was oblivious, leaning over the bar to talk with the server behind it, but the mech who had stood up at his entrance was now bent over and speaking to his company. His optics kept flicking Starscream's way.

Mission stared him down, but the mech didn't even seem to notice.

"Here."

The next second Starscream was turning around and pushing a warm cube into his hand. Mission blinked himself out of his stupor and looked down at it, realising from the shade and sting in his olfactory sensors that it was potent high-grade.

"Sire wouldn't approve," he said diplomatically, offering it back. He had never drunk real high-grade before (he had tried to sip a mouthful of Megatron's once, when his sire hadn't been looking, and he had barely brought the cube to his lips before finding himself dangling upside-down by his ankle and being threatened with the brig.)

He wanted to be in full control tonight. It was just him and his creator, after all. Someone needed to keep a level head.

Starscream pushed the cube back to him, snorting and guiding him with a hand under his elbow towards an empty table. It was sticky. Mission sat down gingerly, not wanting to mar his armour after the hours he had spent polishing it.

"What your sire doesn't know won't hurt him," Starscream took a healthy swig.

Mission could think of a few good examples to contradict that claim. Himself being one of them.

He lifted the cube. Starscream watched him raptly, like he was waiting for something to happen. Mission took the smallest of sips, and the charge of the fuel sizzled on his tongue. Surprised, instead of swallowing, he inhaled it, and broke out into a coughing fit. He blinked tears from his optics, but could see well enough through his blurry vision that his creator was hiding a smirk behind his own cube.

"Nice parenting," he huffed once he could breathe again.

"You're a big bot now, you can handle a little sip of high-grade," Starscream winked playfully, taking an elegant sip of his own fuel.

Mission straightened up, because despite his creator's mocking, he was big now. Well, bigger. Only a helm shorter than his creator and on his way to (hopefully) overtaking him. It would be more of an achievement if Thrax wasn't already shooting up like a rocket. Another couple of vorns and he was in danger of being overtaken.

And he didn't even want to _think_ about how tall Invicta was going to be. He shuddered at the thought of a Big little sister.

He was about to make a second attempt at actually drinking his fuel when an ominous shadow fell over him. Mission's cube fell back to the table with a thunk when he looked up to see the mech that had stood earlier at their arrival, now right at their table, his optics fixed on Starscream.

"Hey," he drawled.

His voice reminded Mission vividly of Lockdown, not just the twang of his accent, but the lecherous tone behind his greeting too.

His creator sat back in his creaky seat and crossed his legs, a finger tapping against the edge of his cube impatiently. His optics tracked up and down the stranger slowly, sizing him up. Mission wondered what he was looking for. Hidden weapons? His suitability as a warrior? He was certainly large and densely armoured. That fit the bill of every other Decepticon Mission knew.

"Here to pledge yourself to a worthier cause?" Starscream fanned his wings forwards, showing off the scowling purple insignias.

The mech took the wings in, but he was looking everywhere _but_ at the insignias. He dropped a clunky, square fist to the table between them and leaned in on it. "Can't think of a worthier cause n' those wings a' yours."

Mission looked at the braced fist between them, and remembered Starscream's trick with the knife from before. He wondered if he could get away with a move as bold and quick. Or if the mech would simply swing his other fist around and send him flying through a wall. Who would defend his creator then?

But his creator took the comment in his stride, shaking it off with thousands of years of practice, "Those wings are spoken for."

"You Con's don't usually come out this far," the mech purred gruffly, immune to the chill of Starscream's glare. "Must be gettin' pretty ... _desperate_ for fresh armour. Watcha' offering?"

"Liberation," Starscream said cooly. "And peace-."

"-Through tyranny, yeah, yeah, we've all heard yer spiel," the mech finished for Starscream. "Can't say I'm fussed 'bout either. You, on the other servo? Might even be worth dying if ya get to sample the _cuisine_ before."

"Charming," Starscream smiled with too much denta, a dangerous glint to his optic. It was the same sort of look he usually wore when he was about to start a fight with Megatron. A look sire knew well enough to flee from.

Most others weren't so wise.

And just to prove it, the mech brought his other hand closer to his creator, reaching for him, reaching for a wing, all while he said something Mission _swore_ he had heard said to his creator before. "Say, why don't you n' I take this upstairs? You can tell me all 'bout yer precious cause while I'm fragging your pretty little-"

Metal rang, energon splattered across the table, and a dismembered hand fell with a thunk to the floor at Starscream's pedes. Mission''s vocaliser caught in his throat, plugged by the sudden pounding of his own spark. His creator's expression didn't change as he brought his sword welding hand up and plunged it into his harasser's chest before the mech had even processed his missing limb.

His mouth burst static, and his optics faded to black.

Starscream held it a moment, just to be sure, before bracing a foot against the mech's stomach and yanking the blade free again. The frame tipped backwards and collapsed stutlessly across another table.

Starscream snatched up his cube and downed the rest of it, all while the fallen mech's friends across the bar were still scrambling to their feet, red faced with fury and tripping over their own pedes.

"Time to go," Starscream ordered, snatching Mission's wrist and yanking him out of his seat.

* * *

The spaceport was both large and urbanised, so despite Starscream's conspicuous appearance they were able to lose their assailants easily. They reached the docks on the east side, but when Starscream ignited his thrusters and took off into the air, Mission didn't follow, his processor racing a mile a minute.

Starscream span around midair, frowning at his vacant look. He sub-spaced the still bloodied sword and dropped back to the deck to pace back to him. "I _told_ Megatron this locale was a lost cause, but does he listen?" He slipped his hand into Mission's. "Let's go-"

"Lockdown," Mission said, connections suddenly taking place in his processor.

Starscream blinked at him, then released his hand to whip around and search the area like he thought the bounty hunter was about to leap out at them from behind a transport ship.

"No," Mission shook his helm. "No, he's not- I was, I was just thinking. That mech. He reminded me of him."

Starscream made an affirming noise. "These scumbags are all alike, Mission."

"Lockdown was your friend," Mission reminded him, grasping at fuzzy memories. "He told me once, that he was like your friend."

Starscream's mouth pulled down at the corner. "He wasn't a friend."

Mission searched his creator's face closely, shifting through the memories. All those times Lockdown had helped them out, given them a place to stay, given them fuel, given them protection. He thought of the time's Lockdown would show him all his weapons, would let him on the flight deck during hyperspace jumps, would lift him up so he could reach the handle to lower the landing gear.

And he thought of all the time Starscream had spent with him alone. All their 'private meetings'. How he'd recharge in Lockdown's berth with him. He wasn't a friend. Was he something more? He had certainly _acted_ like he was.

"...Did you love him?" He asked quietly.

A brief, hysterical laugh burst out of Starscream's vocaliser before his creator could think to stop himself. Starscream snapped his mouth shut and looked aside, but Mission saw the thousands of expressions cross his face before he settled on a mask of stoicism.

"No. No, of course not. The only mech I love is..." He trailed off with a scowl.

"Sire?" Mission guessed.

Starscream pointed at him. "If that get's back to him-!"

"I won't tell him, I swear." Mission frowned. "But I think he already knows-"

"He better not," Starscream growled.

They lapsed into a more somber silence then. Starscream still looked awkward, conflicted.

"...You're too young to understand," he eventually managed.

"I'm old enough to understand why you killed that mech in the bar," Mission contradicted, feeling angry suddenly. " _Those scumbags are alike_ , you said. Was Lockdown like that? Was he like that mech?"

"It's... complicated," Starscream dropped his helm, looking a thousand years older all of a sudden. "We made a deal. He took care of us, and I- I paid him in the only thing I had to offer." He glanced up at Mission, then down again, like he couldn't bear to meet his optics. "I- I had hoped ...all _that_ , had gone over your helm."

Mission shrugged, his chest tight. He was struggling to settle on an emotion. Anger and disgust and betrayal towards Lockdown, and a strut-deep sadness for his creator merging into one horrible nauseous feeling. There were probably a hundred things he should be saying to his creator now, but all he could do was shrug, "It did. Back then."

Starscream nodded stiffly, turning and looking towards the sky. "We should get going-"

"Does sire know?"

Starscream deflated, his wings falling low. "Mission, please-"

"Why hasn't he dealt with Lockdown?" He demanded, anger beating out every other emotion. Because if Megatron was too thoughtless to take care of the problem, _he'd_ do it. He'd hunt Lockdown down. Confront him. Make him sorry for what he'd done.

"Megatron knows," Starscream corrected, sounding exhausted and fraught. "And we have spoken about ... _it_ at length. And the _last_ thing I want is either of you dredging this all up again just so you can make yourself feel better about something that happened to _me_! If _I_ wanted Lockdown dead, I would have done it myself by now!"

Mission blinked, "Do you? Want him dead, I mean?" 

"Sometimes," Starscream exhaled. "But then I think about how we never would have survived out there without him... I would have done anything to keep you safe. It was a small price to pay."

Mission sucked in a sharp breath. He looked away quickly, feeling coolant gather in his optics. He heard a soft curse and next thing he knew Starscream's arms were wrapping around him tightly. His glossy armour was speckled with the bar mech's energon but he still smelt like his copper scented polish. Mission buried his nose against his shoulder, grateful now that his creator was still at least a little taller than him.

"You and your sire," Starscream murmured gently, hand stroking up and down his back. "So overemotional..."

Mission made a noise of protest. Starscream hushed him.

"I love you," Mission mumbled against his creator's armour. Starscream's arms tightened around him for a brief pulse, and he dropped his helm close to Mission's audial and breathed it back, so quiet it was barely audible over the roar of ships taking off and coming in around the port.

They came apart after what seemed like a lifetime. Mission sniffed and managed a wobbly smile. Starscream, as cool and collected as ever, made an indulgent noise and swiped a thumb across his cheek, wiping away a tear.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

"Creator!" Mission complained, turning his face away and shaking him off.

Starscream followed him, hands diving into his subspace to draw out a polishing cloth, "Just let me-"

"I can do it myself!" Mission hastily rubbed the back of his hand across his face. "You're so _embarrassing_!" he grunted, igniting his thrusters with a snap and leaping out of reach.

"You need to buff those coolant tracks out!" Starscream yelled over the sound of his own thrusters igniting. "Mission! Everyone is going to know you were crying!"

Mission grit his denta and groaned.

* * *

Megatron was waiting for them in flight hanger three when they returned, his hands clasped behind his back, chin up, jaw squared. Mission transformed and landed as elegantly as he could, desperate to match the effortless grace of his creator behind him.

Starscream, typically, did some flashy twisting transformation and landed on one pointed toe pede like a prima-ballerina, sucking up all of Megatron's attention.

"You're back early," Megatron commented.

"The spaceport was a dud, sire," Mission frowned, jumping in quickly to -hopefully- make things less awkward for Starscream regarding their early return. He didn't want to revisit the conversation knowing how much Starscream wanted to avoid it. And sire wasn't particularly subtle when it came to sensitive subjects.

Megatron looked to Starscream for his verdict on the spaceport too, but rather than excuses or explanations, Starscream walked up to Megatron, rose onto his toe-pedes, and stole a kiss. A kiss which rapidly deepened.

Mission looked away with a disgusted huff, but failed to mute his audials before the lip-smacking and contented humming started.

"Urgh! Get a room."

They ignored him, like always. Mission stomped as loudly as he could to the hanger exit. He glanced back at them before he left, hoping to see them express at least some embarrassment for their very public display of lust. But they were still kissing, and Starscream was lifting Megatron's hands from his hips and placing them on his wings instead, the same place the mech from the bar had tried to touch him earlier. Rest in pieces, creep, Mission thought vindictively.

Because Megatron was clearly the only mech allowed to touch them.

"Why're you covered in someone else's energon?" Mission heard Megatron grumble to Starscream as he slipped out the door.

"Shut up and kiss me," he heard Starscream evade expertly, and armour clanged as they re-collided hastily.

Mission inwardly cringed, making a mental note to never, _ever_ use flight hanger three again.


End file.
